


All Hallows

by BlushLouise



Category: The Transformers (Cartoon Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Fluff, Halloween, M/M, Multi, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Tumblr Halloween prompt bingo, aliens trying on human culture, rare pairs galore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 23:51:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16169306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlushLouise/pseuds/BlushLouise
Summary: The Autobots are gearing up for Halloween! Pumpkins and mazes and costumes and trick-or-treating and... romance?A series of interconnected prompt responses for theOctober Prompt Bingo. Somehow ended up as pure fluff with angsty overtones instead of the scary-spooky that's Halloween.





	1. Tradition

“Sideswipe wants to carve pumpkins.”

Ratchet gasped, arching up into the clever touch of white digits in his seams. “Again?  F-frag, that’s good, keep that up – didn’t we have this discussion with Jazz last year?”

“We did,” Prowl confirmed, his professional tone belied by the way he nibbled on Ratchet’s throat cables. “And it didn’t do any good then either, as I recall.”

Ratchet retaliated by turning his head slightly and sucking at that sensitive red chevron. Prowl shuddered above him.

“I assume you haven’t taken this to Optimus?” Ratchet punctuated his words with a small bite and a soothing lick.

Prowl chuckled, insistent white fingers rubbing against the edge of Ratchet’s panel. “We both know that that won’t do any good.”

“Mech loves his traditions,” Ratchet moaned, surrendering to the touch and sliding his panel aside. “He’ll be first in line with a carving knife.”

A click heralded Prowl’s own panel opening. “Sideswipe’s pumpkin will be a mass of chaos until Sunstreaker fixes it. Bluestreak’s will be a happy face, and he refuses to understand how eerie that is. The minibots’ll start throwing the mess at each other, Ironhide will be shouting at them before he joins in, First Aid will be carving the tiniest pumpkin he can get his hands on, and Cliffjumper will be carving the biggest.” He licked a broad stripe across Ratchet’s windscreen, making the medic twitch. “And you’ll be stuck cleaning pumpkin meat from finger joints and palm sensors all evening.” Prowl thrust home, and Ratchet groaned.

They settled into an easy rhythm. Ratchet grinned ferally. “You know I won’t. There’ll be soaking bowls and cleaning solution, just like last year. There’ll be cloths and brushes for those pips that won’t come out. You will supply the usual warning that participation is at one’s own risk, and injuries will be left to self-repair unless they’re life-threatening. First Aid will take pity on the few who can’t manage to get everything clean themselves, of whom Bluestreak will be the worst, and as everyone else go out trick-or-treating those two will end up in berth together. And I…” Ratchet tilted his hips, meeting Prowl thrust for thrust.

“Where will you be?” Prowl’s voice was low and husky.

“I’ll be in your quarters, railing you through the berth,” Ratchet replied, smirking. “Just like last year.”

Prowl grinned. “Now that’s a tradition I can get behind.” He lowered his lips to Ratchet’s, nipping at his lower lip. “I’ll let Optimus and Sideswipe know.”

“Not right now, you won’t,” Ratchet threatened. “You’re busy.”

“I am,” Prowl confirmed against the medic’s mouth. “In the best way.” He moved his head aside, tasting his way to Ratchet’s throat cables. As Prowl bit down, hips grinding against Ratchet’s, fingers tweaking his chevron just so, Ratchet overloaded so hard he saw stars.

He was looking forward to Halloween already.


	2. Celebration

“Psst! Hey, ‘Raj!”

Mirage stopped, looking back to the door that had been closed a moment ago. “Sideswipe?”

“Shh! Come here!” A dark hand reached out to take his hand and tug him inside.

Mirage giggled. “Much as I like a closet rendezvous, I have a feeling that’s not what’s going on here.”

Sideswipe winked. “I’d happily ravage you, lover. Anytime, anywhere. But right now I need a favor.” He held up a thin flute of almost golden liquid. It was a shade or two darker than Sunstreaker’s paint scheme. “Will you try this out? It’s a new blend for the Halloween party. I’m trying to get the color right.”

Mirage took the flute. His natural suspicion towards any unidentified liquid had long since been mitigated in Sideswipe’s case. His lover was a genius with energon, and the results were always impressive.

“Your brother tired of being your test subject?” he asked, a touch of humor in his voice.

“Sunny’s… busy.” Sideswipe chuckled. “I pouted and everything, but he said what he was doing was more important than ‘another stupid concoction which will never get the color right anyway’.” Dark fingers made air quotes in front of Sideswipe’s stern impression of his brother.

“More important? This is delicious, by the way. The shade is nice, too.” Mirage sipped at the flute again. “What’s he doing?”

“Well! It’s a real doozy.” Sideswipe took Mirage’s free hand again, and pulled him down to sit on his lap. “Promise you won’t tell him I told?”

“I’m good at secrets, love.” Also, now he was extremely curious.

Sideswipe grinned. “Sunny’s chasing aft.”

“No.” Mirage grinned widely. “You’re joking.”

“Not joking.” Sideswipe crossed his spark. “He is seriously chasing aft.”

“Finally found the courage somewhere, then?” Mirage downed the rest of the new blend and put the empty flute aside, so he could put both hands around Sideswipe’s neck. “Or is it a new mech he’s chasing?”

“No, same one. I don’t know what got into him, but he suddenly decided that this Halloween was it.”

“Well, that’s nothing but good news,” Mirage purred. “Maybe we won’t have him hovering over us anymore.”

“Some privacy would be nice,” Sideswipe agreed, nuzzling Mirage’s cheek. “Hey, do you know what this room has?”

Mirage looked around. The storage closet was fairly bare, just a few crates and empty shelves concealing Sideswipe’s semi-illegal still. “It looks plain to me. What does it have?”

Sideswipe licked up Mirage’s helm vent and grinned. “Some privacy.”

That tone went straight to Mirage’s core, making his array heat up in interest. “That it does,” he agreed, his own tone husky. “But first, I think, a celebration is in order.” He stood and poured another two flutes full of the new energon blend, handing one to his lover. “A toast to Sunstreaker. May he succeed in his endeavors.”

“May he get fragged by the end of the month,” Sideswipe agreed, grinning. He downed the flute in one go and stepped up against Mirage’s frame, hands teasing around to Mirage’s back and pulling him in. “And may the privacy of this room convince this insanely sexy, beautiful mech whom I love to celebrate further with me.”

Mirage downed his own flute and smiled. He let his hands trace Sideswipe’s broad shoulders, until they were resting at the back of his neck. “I think the gods of private storage closets have heard you. It must be the correct grammar use.” He stretched up and let his mouth caress Sideswipe’s teasingly. “Now, how do we continue this celebration?”

Sideswipe’s engine revved, and suddenly Mirage was pressed back against the wall. “Oh, I have some ideas.”

Sideswipe was tall, strong, dominant, and it was enough to make Mirage melt. His panel clicked aside as his fans clicked on. “That was what I was hoping for.”

Sideswipe grinned. With one hand, he reached out to lock the door.


	3. Mask

“Trick or treat!”

First Aid spun around. “Holy Primus!”

“Did I scare you?” Fireflight – because it was Fireflight, of course it was, even though it looked like Starscream for all intents and purposes – chuckled and walked closer. He pushed the mask up. “Guess it looks real enough, then?”

“The spitting image,” First Aid confirmed. “Almost stopped my spark there.” He waved a hand towards Fireflight, indicating the hollow plating attached pretty much everywhere to change Fireflight’s blocky, broad silhouette into Starscream’s sleeker design. “You’ve really gone all out on this one, haven’t you?”

“Air Raid challenged me.” Fireflight grinned. “There’s a couple of cubes of high-grade in it if I can make it look convincing. I’m guessing I managed?”

“I’ll say.” First Aid walked around Fireflight slowly. “Who helped you?”

“Wheeljack. He thought it would be funny. Of course, he’s also helping Air Raid turn into Ramjet.” He giggled. “Said he didn’t want to play favorites.”

“Starscream is more scary than Ramjet, though,” First Aid mused. “Who’s the judge?”

Fireflight shrugged, jostling the fake shoulder vents concealing his nose cone. “Everyone. Whoops. Figured we’d ask at the party who did the best job.” He spun. “Do you think he’ll be impressed?”

“Who, Air Raid? I guess? You know your brother better than I do.” First Aid reached out to straighten the crooked shoulder vent.

“Not Air Raid.” Fireflight blushed prettily. “Guess I haven’t told you, huh?”

First Aid leaned back against one of the medberths. So Fireflight had a crush, did he? Aid smiled at his friend. “Who are you trying to impress, Flight?”

Fireflight bit his lip, smiling back. “You won’t laugh, right?”

“I never laugh at you,” First Aid replied. He sat up on the berth.

“No, I know. That’s why you’re my best non-brother friend.” Fireflight blushed again, looking down.

First Aid hadn’t seen Fireflight like this in a while. The Aerialbot was adorable.

_Please, let it be someone who’s good to him this time._

“I really wanted to impress…” Fireflight took a deep in-vent. “Perceptor.”

_Thank Primus._

“Perceptor, huh?” First Aid reached out to snag Fireflight’s hand, pulling him up to sit on the medberth as well. “How long has that been going on?”

Fireflight blushed. “Don’t know. A while and not long at all? He’s always there, always kind, and I can always ask him if there’s something I want to know, he always explains. And last week he was telling me something about the Earth’s core and how the pressure down there worked on the crust, and I suddenly realized I wanted him to kiss me.” Cue another furious blush.

He really was adorable.

“Well, I can’t imagine anyone not being impressed by your costume,” First Aid said, giving Fireflight’s hand a squeeze. “It’s really good. So are you going to ask him to dance at the party?”

Fireflight giggled. “Perceptor doesn’t dance. He says he’s got a stationary alt mode for a reason. But I’m definitely going to talk to him. Hopefully. If I feel brave enough.”

“You’re plenty brave,” First Aid replied. “I’ll be cheering you on. Perceptor’s a good mech.”

“Thanks, Aid.” Fireflight squeezed his hand. Then he looked up at First Aid with hopeful optics. “So can I see your costume?”

First Aid nodded. “Sure! I have it here somewhere.” He winked at Fireflight. “Dim your optics.”

As Fireflight complied, First Aid slid off the medberth and walked over to a set of drawers. He pulled the metal strip from the top drawer, and bent his neck to magnetize it to his helm. Then, all done, he whirled to face Fireflight again. “Ta-daa!”

Fireflight stared. Then he laughed so hard he near fell off the berth. “That’s your costume!?”

“It is!” First Aid beamed, shaking his head a bit to make the eyestalk springs bounce. “I’m an alien! Like it?”

“It’s ridiculously brilliant,” Fireflight wheezed, doubled over laughing and clearly having problems getting himself back under control. “Eyestalks. Primus.” He straightened slowly, still venting hard. “It’s a good thing you’re not going trick-or-treating with that. It’s not scary at all. Just hilarious.”

“I don’t like the trick-or-treating anyway,” First Aid chuckled, making the eyestalks wiggle again. “All those costumes freak me out. Besides, I have plans.”

“I know. With Bluestreak.” Fireflight got off the medberth and walked towards First Aid. “I want to have that kind of plans, too. With luck, I might.” He grinned and gave one eyestalk a little prod, watching and giggling as it bounced back and forth. “Love this. Anyway, I should get out of this costume. Don’t want to show it off too much before Halloween. See you, Aid!”

“Bye, Flight!” First Aid waved as his friend skipped out of the medbay. Then he pulled the thin metal strip off of his head again, putting it back in the drawer.

Just another couple of weeks.


	4. Nightmare

_This is how it ends. The last thing he sees is the first thing he remembers._

_There’s fire everywhere, and the ground is trembling under his feet, threatening to give way and drop him through the hundreds of sublevels to be smashed to pieces against the core of the planet. Behind him there’s the roar of engines, forcing him to run harder than he ever has before. He leaps across chasms, dodges fallen debris and half-melted frames, ducks blaster shots._

_He turns a corner, and stumbles across the first of the grey frames. A layer of dust covers everything, and every in-vent irritates his filters. His tanks ping him incessantly with low fuel warnings, but the frames here aren’t even worth trying to siphon – they’ve been gone for too long._

_He drops to his knees, the last bit of fuel spent, and the electro-whip lashes across his back. He’s laid out flat, his tormentor staring down at him, grinning at him, and acid eats through his connectors and sensors as his plating is torn from his frame._

_When the acid hits his optics, Jazz sits bolt upright and screams._

“Easy, love. You’re safe.” The crooning voice meant safety, like it always had, but he couldn’t relax yet. It could easily be a trap. That had been the case before.

“Darling,” the voice continued. “Hemingway. Especially. Corner. Lacewing. Hedwig. Queen. Diamond. Apple. Verbose. Seventeen.”

“Acorn. Scale. Icecap. Bound. Caller,” Jazz finished. He turned and burrowed against Red Alert’s plating. “Thanks, Red.”

“Of course.” Gentle hands embraced him, pulling him close to the warm frame. “Always.”

They lay there in the dark together until Jazz’s spark had settled and his venting was back to normal.

“Is it the same dream?”

“Yeah,” Jazz sighed. “Same as always. Thanks for snappin’ me out of it.”

“You’re safe here with me,” Red Alert murmured. He kissed Jazz’s forehead.

“I know.”

And he did. Red Alert had been Jazz’s safe haven long before they’d become lovers. They were the same in so many ways, both scarred, both damaged, both exceptionally skilled in their chosen fields. It was what made them work so well together.

Jazz was a deadly, focused operative whenever he was a mission. He was always on high alert when he was deployed, went weeks with only fitful recharge and poor fueling, always ready to defend himself on a moment’s notice. Always ready to kill.

But he couldn’t unwind. He never felt safe. Not until he’d met Red, at least.

Because Red Alert saw everything. He knew every nook and cranny of the _Ark_ , saw every ventilation shaft and blind spot. The _Ark_ was Red Alert’s fortress, and he had complete control over it. And that meant that Jazz could let his control go.

A routine had established itself, one where Jazz sought Red out after every mission. At first he’d hidden at Red’s pedes, under his desk, often with a knife or two at the ready, until Red had gone through every inch of the _Ark_ and assured him that it hadn’t been breached.

After a good long while, Jazz had felt safe enough to stop hiding under the desk, and instead hovered behind Red’s shoulder until the checks had been done.

Then he’d graduated to lounging in a chair while Red reassured him.

Then, one day, Red Alert had met him at the door, and said: “Welcome home, Jazz. The _Ark_ is safe.”

That night Jazz had gone with Red back to his quarters.

Jazz went on missions to keep Red Alert safe. In return, Red gave Jazz a safe haven.

“Love you,” Jazz whispered.

“Love you more,” Red whispered back. His fingers caressed Jazz’s sensor horn. “Feel like going back to recharge?”

“If you hold me like this,” Jazz replied. “Want t’ feel your spark.”

Red Alert chuckled and pulled him closer. “That helps, huh?”

“Immensely.” Jazz nuzzled Red’s chest. Then he chuckled. “Ya know Wheeljack’s been askin’ me for help with that haunted house he wanted for Halloween?”

“What about it?”

“Now I know what t’ make.” He settled in Red’s arms, ex-venting softly. “The dreams are good for something, at least.”

“Don’t make it too scary,” Red chastised gently. “It’s supposed to be fun.”

“Oh, I know. I won’t go overboard.”

“Good.” Red kissed his forehead again. “Recharge, love. I’ll be right here.”

Jazz knew that. Red Alert was always there.

Feeling safe and comforted, he slipped back to recharge.


	5. Monster

Sideswipe was dragged from the brink of recharge by the feeling of a storm approaching.

_Uh oh._

Gently, he stroked the cheek strut of the mech next to him on the berth. Mirage’s optics brightened slowly.

“What’s wrong?” The voice was sleepy and adorable and any other time Sideswipe would be kissing the living air out of his lover in response, but not tonight. Not with that storm in his spark.

“Sunstreaker’s despairing,” he replied softly. “I need some brother time. Please?”

“Of course.” Mirage smiled and sat up. “Don’t feel bad. I understand.”

“Thanks. Love you, babe.” He couldn’t completely resist the kiss, but he tried to keep it brief at least. “You’re the best.”

“Love you back.” Mirage’s smile was gentle. “Good luck. Let me know if you need anything. Either of you.”

That’s why Sideswipe adored Mirage. Because Mirage was just as kind to Sunstreaker as he was to Sideswipe.

Well, minus the kisses and the tactile affection and the mind-blowing ‘facing, of course. That was all for Sideswipe.

No sooner was Mirage gone than Sunstreaker stormed in. Sideswipe instantly sat up straight. One glance was enough to tell him that this was _bad_.

“Sunny? Bro, talk to me.”

Sunstreaker just snarled at him, optics nearly white, fists clenched so tightly Sideswipe could see the stress fractures to the knuckles. His brother was pacing like a wild beast in a cage, heat pouring off him in waves.

-Sunstreaker. Please.- Wordlessly, Sideswipe sent everything he felt for his brother over the bond – the love, the fierce admiration, the protectiveness. –Talk to me.-

Abruptly, Sunstreaker stopped, optics glued to the floor. Now that he was still, Sideswipe could see how his entire body was vibrating. –It won’t work, Sides. It won’t ever work.-

-What won’t? Bro, please.- Sideswipe stood, walked carefully over to take Sunstreaker’s trembling hands. –Let me help.-

Sunstreaker collapsed against him, strutless, a sob pulling from his chest. –Optimus Prime will never be with a monster.-

Fury burned through Sideswipe. All that work to make Sunstreaker believe in himself and his own worth, and now _this_? –Who said it? I’ll tear their helm off!- He was all but snarling as he guided Sunstreaker to the berth and pulled him down to curl against his side.

Sunstreaker just shook his head, though. –No one said it. Not like that. But when I tried to walk closer…- Another one of those broken sobs, and strong fingers clung to Sideswipe’s plating. –They looked at me like I was a danger, Sides. They all did! They were tense and alert and some of them shifted to stand in front of him, so I wouldn’t get close! Like I was going to harm him!-

“So they’re slaggers,” Sideswipe said angrily. “They have no right. None.”

“They have every right,” Sunstreaker replied, his voice tremulous. “I’m… I’m bad, Sides. It’s the truth.”

Sideswipe was shaking his head before Sunstreaker was even done talking. He cradled Sunstreaker’s face, tilting it up so his brother was forced to look at him. “No, it’s not. I know your spark, bro. You’re not bad, you’re not broken, you’re not insane or glitching or mad or crazy or any of those words they throw around. You’re not.” He sighed and kissed his brother’s forehead. “Don’t give up. Please. You were doing so well and you’ve wanted this for so long.”

“There’s no hope, though.” Sunstreaker sighed. “Face it, Sides, I’m a lost cause. It won’t ever happen.”

“I don’t believe that, and neither should you,” Sideswipe said firmly. “I mean, I got Mirage, for Primus’ sake. I never thought that could happen either. But it did, and he loves me. And you can have that too. There’s nothing wrong with you, Sunny.” He grinned. “Besides, we’re coming up on Halloween. Isn’t that when monsters like me and you and Jazz and Ironhide and Cliffjumper and such are supposed to roam free and rule the world?”

Sunstreaker snorted a laugh, and Sideswipe crowed in victory internally at the faint lightening of his brother’s mood. “You’re such a glitch. Anyway, it’s Christmas that’s the season of hope.”

“So? That’s coming up too!” He hugged his brother again. “Don’t give up, Sunny. We’ll get there.”

They would. Sideswipe would make sure of that. He would prove to Sunstreaker that his brother was worthy of love, worthy of affection, the rest of the Autobots be damned.

Maybe it was time for Sideswipe to start nudging things in the right direction.


	6. Treats

Bumblebee scouted the houses carefully. Which ones were brightly lit. Which ones were busy. Which ones were more scary than festive. Which seemed to have the more tolerant humans. He considered the amount of kids, the music, the decorations, the signs in the front yard.

Whenever he was satisfied, he stopped and let the two cassettes out.

“Trick or treat!” It was Eject’s turn to ask, and the little mech was grinning madly at the human answering the door.

“My, those are excellent costumes!” the woman exclaimed, handing each of the twins a chocolate bar. “Did you make them yourselves?”

It wasn’t the first time tonight someone had asked. Rewind and Eject were small for Autobots, sure, but they were nearly the size of adult humans. Bumblebee had fended all sorts of awkward questions all night. Most humans seemed to land on the idea that the twins were teenagers with some form of mental disability, making them act younger than they were.

Bumblebee didn’t disabuse them of that notion. The humans could believe what they wanted. The most important thing was that the twins were having fun.

“Unca Bee helped us, didn’t ya, unca Bee?” Rewind said, glancing at Bumblebee’s holoform.

“I did, Roger,” Bee replied, petting the cassette’s head. “But you did a lot of the work.” He smiled at the woman. “Thank you.”

“Yes, thank you!” Eject chirped.

“You’re welcome,” the woman gushed. “So sweet of you to take them out trick-or-treating.”

“I don’t mind.” Bumblebee smiled. “They’re almost like family to me, and they think this is so much fun.” He turned back towards his alt mode. “Come on, you two. You tired yet?”

“Not tired yet, are we, Eric?” Rewind was practically bouncing.

“Not tired,” Eject agreed. He waved at the woman. “Happy Halloween!”

“Happy Halloween!” The woman waved back, before she was engulfed by a swarm of little demons and other costumed characters.

The neighboring house looked good, too. Bumblebee sent the cassettes ahead up the path as he smiled and waved at the couple already waiting in the doorway.

Trust the humans to come up with such a ridiculous holiday.

The snarl of a high-performance engine behind him stole his focus. He knew that sound – it was enough to give him goosebumps of the best kind.

::So how is the candy-begging going?::

::Well,:: Bumblebee replied, turning and straining to catch a glimpse of red plating. ::I think we’ll be done soon.::

::Good,:: Cliffjumper purred. ::Then maybe we can entice you to come back for some real treats.::

::Oh?:: Bumblebee grinned. ::What do you have planned?::

::What do you think?:: That was Air Raid, breaking into the comm channel. When Bumblebee focused, he could hear the whine of his lover’s jet engines in the skies above. ::Bet I can make you scream.::

::You always do,:: Bumblebee replied. ::So good, both of you.:: He turned to see Rewind beaming at the cookies they were handed. ::Let me get the rugrats some more loot, and I’ll be all yours.::

Cliffjumper cruised past him, engine growling enticingly. ::You already are.::

Bumblebee’s eyes followed that red aft. He couldn’t very well object to that. ::Be ready for me.::

::Always am,:: Air Raid promised. ::See you in a little while.::

::Can’t wait.::

Bumblebee wrested his attention away from Cliffjumper’s red plating to see Rewind and Eject bouncing back towards him. “Ready to move on? Or are you getting tired?”

The twins looked at each other. “Let’s do this for a bit more,” Rewind decided. “Then we can go home, give our candy to Spike and Carly.”

“Sounds good.” Bumblebee opened the door. “Come on, in you get. Where to next?”

“That way,” Eject said. He winked at Bumblebee. “Don’t worry. We’ll let you go back to Cliff and Raider soon.”

Bumblebee laughed. “Guess I’m too transparent, huh?”

“Totally,” Rewind chirped. “Come on, can we hit that one? Please?”

“Yeah, sure.” Bumblebee grinned. “Go ahead.” He leaned back against his own alt mode, smiling at them. Just a few more houses, and then they could go home.

A roar of jet engines above told him that he probably wouldn’t even get inside the Ark before he got pounced. Which was fine by him – Air Raid always ran delightfully hot when he’d been flying. Bumblebee might not be able to walk properly in the morning.

It was going to be a good night.


	7. Ghost story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skyfire's good at scary stories. But Fireflight's costume is enough to bring back some scary ghosts of his own.

«… and, just like the priestess had promised, his spirit never rested. To this day, he’s doomed to haunt the old village, ensnaring anyone who comes by, sentencing them to suffer as he himself has suffered.”

::Skyfire tells the best scary stories.::

Silverbolt grinned at Skydive. He had to agree.

“So what happened?” Slingshot asked. His brother was leaning over Skydive’s lap, the devil horns on his helm knocked askew, bright optics focused on Skyfire. “Is that the end?”

“That’s the end,” Skyfire confirmed. He glanced at Silverbolt. “Unless, of course, you count the story of the one mech who managed to escape?”

Skydive looked at Silverbolt eagerly. “Escape?”

“Oh, yes,” Silverbolt agreed. He sat up, pulling away from Skyfire’s arm slightly. “See, legend has it that one mech, a young grounder from Iacon, managed to find the village. And when the ghost found him, instead of ensnaring him, it possessed him. The mech was stricken mad by it, and for ages he just roamed the countryside, surviving on wild mechanimals and drinking the energon of unfortunate travelers. But the planet was failing, and the mech had to make his way to one of the two factions warring for control.” He paused for effect, careful not to look at where Jazz was sneaking closer to the back of the sofa. “No one really knows where he went. Which faction he joined. The only thing that’s certain is that the Mad Mech of Iacon is still around, because you can’t kill what isn’t alive.”

“And who knows?” Skyfire continued in soft, haunted tones. “Maybe tonight, he’s out there in the wilderness. Or he’s still prowling his old hunting grounds near Iacon. Or he could be… right here!”

On cue, Jazz leapt across the back of the couch, snarling like a wild beast, throwing himself at Slingshot. Both Slingshot and Skydive screamed, though the terror quickly turned to breathless laughter as Jazz proceeded to tickle them into submission.

Silverbolt chuckled and stretched up to nuzzle Skyfire’s cheek. “Skydive is right, love. You do tell the best scary stories.”

Skyfire smiled that gentle smile of his. “I suppose I remember more of them than anyone else. The bonus of spending millions of years hibernating in the ice – my memories are fresher.”

“It’s good that at least one good thing came out of that,” Silverbolt agreed.

“More than one,” Skyfire said. He put his arms around Silverbolt and pulled him close. “For another, I missed a lot of the war. That’s a lot of pain and fear and suffering I’ll never have to live through. For the best part,” he kissed Silverbolt’s temple, “I found you.”

“Get a room already,” Slingshot hollered, still giggling a bit. Jazz, done up as a vampire for the occasion, had already slunk away hunting for his next victim.

“You can handle a bit of kissing, Slings,” Skydive defended them. “You’ve seen worse. Primus, you’ve done worse.”

“I have not,” Slingshot argued. “I’ve never – what the actual frag?”

Silverbolt turned to see what his brothers were staring at. From the corner of his eye he saw Skyfire do the same. Then his lover stiffened.

Starscream had just walked into the room. He raised his arm threateningly, aiming his null ray at anyone who moved, grinning madly.

“Star,” Skyfire breathed. It was quiet enough that Silverbolt thought he was the only one who’d heard.

Starscream stepped up on a chair, then up on a table. He twirled in a circle, holding his arms out for effect. Then he stopped, facing the room, and pushed at his own chin.

When Fireflight’s grinning face appeared underneath the very lifelike mask, the room erupted. And Skyfire slumped against Silverbolt’s back, his forehead on Silverbolt’s shoulder.

“Primus,” he sighed, and there was a tremulous quality to the sound. “Primus.”

Silverbolt turned to face his lover. He barely noticed Slingshot and Skydive darting away from the table and heading towards Fireflight. “Are you okay?”

Skyfire shook his head and chuckled grimly. “Not by a long shot. Primus, that gave me a scare.”

In a flash Silverbolt understood. “He looks just like him.”

“Not only that.” Skyfire looked at Fireflight again. “He _moves_ just like Star used to. Like he did back when we were both young. The real Starscream doesn’t move like that anymore, he’s more gracefully dangerous now. Seeing Flight dressed up like that, moving like that…” He drew another deep in-vent. “It was like the ghost of my own personal Starscream had decided to appear tonight.”

“You miss him,” Silverbolt stated, trying to ignore the twinge in his spark.

“I used to,” Skyfire replied. He shuddered as Fireflight put the mask back on. Gone was the quirky, distracted Aerialbot – in his place stood a cocky young air commander.

“He’s going to keep doing that all night,” Silverbolt said. “As long as anyone thinks it’s interesting.” He lifted a hand to cup Skyfire’s cheek. “Want to get out of here?”

Skyfire leaned into the touch slightly. “I don’t want to make you miss the party.”

Silverbolt grinned. “It’s just Halloween. I don’t really care. I thought my excuse for a costume gave that away.”

Skyfire laughed, booping the fake red nose stuck to Silverbolt’s nasal ridge. “You sure?”

“I’m sure,” Silverbolt confirmed, standing up and taking Skyfire’s hand. “Come on. Let’s go hide away somewhere.”

Skyfire followed willingly, and Silverbolt marveled again at how the big mech trusted him. He wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve that, but he adored it nonetheless.

Unfortunately, Fireflight noticed them leaving. Silverbolt had hoped they could sneak past without being seen. There was no hiding how upset Skyfire was from someone as observant as his brother, and now Fireflight would probably be upset too.

::Bolt? What’s wrong?::

::We’re just leaving, Flight. Stay and have fun.::

::But _why_ are you leaving?::

Silverbolt sighed. This wasn’t Fireflight’s fault, but his brother would feel like it was. But he also wouldn’t be satisfied with half-truths, and the last thing Silverbolt wanted right then was for Fireflight to come over and ask Skyfire directly.

::Your costume brought up some bad memories for ‘Fire. That’s all. It’s not your fault. But we need to be elsewhere for a while.:: He smiled up at his brother. ::Have fun, okay? Don’t worry about us.::

There was a slight pout to Fireflight’s lip, a downcast look to his optics, but he nodded. ::Tell him I’m sorry, okay? I’d never dressed like this if I knew it would upset him.::

::He knows you didn’t do it on purpose,:: Silverbolt assured. ::He adores you, you know that.::

::Likewise. I’ll see you tomorrow?:: The tone was hopeful.

::Definitely. Night, Flight.::

Silverbolt put his hand around Skyfire’s waist as they left the room. “Do you want to hide out in the lab for a while? It’s bound to be quiet there.”

“No.” Skyfire smiled, pulling Silverbolt close. “I want to take you back to my quarters. And then I want to tell you more stories.” He kissed Silverbolt’s helm. “Thank you, love. For understanding.”

Silverbolt nodded. “Of course. You’ve told me about him before. I’m sorry Flight’s costume brought it back.” Then he grinned, determined to lighten the mood. “So what kind of stories? Are you intending to scare your young lover into clinging to you all night?”

Skyfire laughed and brushed his lips across Silverbolt’s forehead. “As it happens, that was my plan exactly. Since you’re so young and impressionable and all.” The playful tone changed, darkening into something potent that had made heat pool low in Silverbolt’s stomach. “When will your brothers need you back?”

“Not until tomorrow,” Silverbolt breathed. “They’re big mechs now, they can handle themselves.”

“Good,” Skyfire purred. “Because I have some old memories that need to be chased away. And the best cure for missing the past is being reminded of what I have in the present.” He finally pressed his lips to Silverbolt’s, though it was briefer than the Aerialbot would have preferred. “You are better, you know,” Skyfire murmured. “I love you more.”

Silverbolt grinned. “That’s what I like to hear.”

And it was. He could deal with all manner of ghosts from Skyfire’s past as long as he knew that.

“Come on,” Skyfire rumbled against his lips. “Let’s go hide away.”

Silverbolt didn’t hesitate in kissing back. Tonight, they could have complete privacy.

Sorting out the mess with Fireflight would have to wait until tomorrow.


	8. Transformation

“Perceptor?”

The voice was small, much more timid than Perceptor was used to hearing from this particular mech. He turned in surprise.

“Fireflight? Is something wrong?”

Fireflight was barefaced again, the very realistic mask dangling from his hand. He looked almost dejected, worrying slightly at his lower lip, not meeting Perceptor’s optics.

“No. Kinda. I – well.” He sighed and finally looked up. “I want to get out of this costume. Will you help me?”

“Of course, if you need me to,” Perceptor replied. “But may I ask why? You seemed to be a success in there.”

“Yeah. But I freaked out Skyfire. And now I feel bad.” He bit at his lower lip again. “Will you help me get this costume off? It’s fastened with nuts and bolts, and I just can’t reach.”

“Yes, I remember Wheeljack talking about it,” Perceptor replied. “He was quite proud of how it all came together.” He let Fireflight fall into step next to him. “Why didn’t you ask him to help you?”

“Because he’s so proud of it,” Fireflight said quietly. “I didn’t want him to feel guilty as well.”

Perceptor nodded in understanding. It was so very Fireflight. “Well, let’s go to the lab. There are bound to be tools there we can use.”

They walked the rest of the way in silence. It was unusual for Fireflight to be so quiet, but Perceptor chalked it down to him being upset with himself for scaring Skyfire.

Well, he could try to make him feel better, at least.

“I very much doubt Skyfire holds it against you.” Perceptor smiled at the young Aerialbot. “He knows there was no malicious thought behind your costume.”

Fireflight shot him a quick smile in return. “Thanks for trying to cheer me up. And yeah, I know. But I should have thought it through.”

Perceptor entered the code for the lab door. “By that argument, so should Wheeljack. It wasn’t your fault, either of you.” He put a comforting hand on Fireflight’s back. “Now, come on. Let’s get you looking like yourself again.”

He led Fireflight to a bare spot in the middle of the floor and collected everything he thought he would need. Fireflight lifted his arm when prompted, and Perceptor began manually loosening all the tiny, illogical screws.

“Wheeljack didn’t do this half-way, did he,” Perceptor said dryly, as he finally could lift the extra plating away from Fireflight’s left arm. “He must have used a thousand screws altogether.”

“He wanted it to look right.” Fireflight turned when prompted so Perceptor could get to the other arm. “And it did.”

Perceptor chuckled. “Yes, it certainly did at that.”

Fireflight brightened. “You liked it?”

“It is very impressive,” Perceptor replied. The right arm was easier than the left, now that he’d figured out Wheeljack’s ridiculous system. Honestly, the costume was much too complicated. “You look just like him.” He pulled the plating away, stepping back as Fireflight shook his arms a bit.

“I’m glad you like it.” Fireflight smiled. “I did too, until it freaked out ‘Fire. Silverbolt had to leave with him.”

“You didn’t chase them away,” Perceptor said, meeting Fireflight’s optics with a firm glance of his own. He tried to soften the effect with a smile. “I’ve heard Skyfire and Silverbolt talking this last week. They’ve been desperate for some privacy.”

Fireflight grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, I guess that’s hard to come by with ‘Bolt having four brothers.”

“Indeed.” Perceptor took a knee by Fireflight’s leg and began attacking the row of tiny screws that ran down his hip. Wheeljack seemed to have figured out what he was doing by then – all the screws came out easily, and the clasps holding the extra plating on were easy to disconnect. He had both legs free in less time than he’d used on the first arm.

Fireflight groaned as the last of the plating on his legs fell away. “Primus, that’s better. It looked great, but it was really restrictive.”

Perceptor stroked one twitching flight panel. “I can imagine.”

The panel was warm, pressing against his palm.

Last but not least were the shoulder vents, mounted in such a way that they concealed much of Fireflight’s kibble. Tall, intricately set up, and he couldn’t find a clasp, screw or bolt anywhere on them.

“How did Wheeljack attach these slagged things?” Perceptor exclaimed.

Fireflight giggled. “I think most of the screws are hidden. The main one is behind my neck I think, so if you get that, you should be able to see the others.”

Perceptor grumbled good-naturedly about the nature of whimsical inventors and their mad schemes, and reached to feel for the offending screw in question. It was placed as awkwardly as Fireflight had indicated. He’d need both hands to get it loose, and that forced him to put his arms around Fireflight’s neck to get at the blasted thing.

The Aerialbot smiled, and his optics were warm and trusting as they met Perceptor’s own. Perceptor couldn’t help but smile back.

“Hey, Percy, did you know you have very pretty optics? They’re the color of the sky just before the sun rises properly.”

Perceptor was startled, both at the compliment and the name. Fireflight had always used his full name. He blamed his surprise for the honest, somewhat flabbergasted answer he gave. “You think so? Thank you, Fireflight. Your optics are very pretty, too.”

The younger mech beamed. “They are? Do my optics look like the sky too?”

Perceptor paused, looking at Fireflight’s optics more intently. “Not quite. Your optics are like…” The sky wasn’t quite the right color. There was something else there, a deeper blue of sorts, but it was hard to pinpoint in such poor lighting.

Perceptor pulled one hand back, placing it on Fireflight’s chin and angling his face a bit to let the light illuminate him better.

_Ah, that’s it. That is a more accurate simile._

“They’re like tidal pools,” he said softly, still looking. “This clear, bright blue, lighter at the edges and dark and deep enough to drown in in the center.”

He startled back as his nasal ridge bumped Fireflight’s. They were very close together. How hadn’t he noticed how close together their faces were?

Fireflight smiled, a much softer expression than usual, though he was worrying at his lip again. “Are you drowning in my optics, Percy?” He sounded nervous, too.

“Yes,” Perceptor replied, though he hadn’t really thought to say anything. He certainly hadn’t meant to lean his forehead against Fireflight’s. He could only blame it on still being unbalanced – he must be, because Fireflight’s arms were now around his waist, lending him some much-needed support.

“Good,” Fireflight murmured. “Then I hope you won’t mind this.”

Perceptor’s optics brightened as Fireflight’s mouth met his. For a moment he was frozen, but then he staggered back out of Fireflight’s arms.

Fireflight had _kissed_ him.

Sweet, little Fireflight, endlessly curious, easily distracted Fireflight, had _kissed_ _him_.

Him. _Perceptor_.

Fireflight was looking at him, a nervous smile on his face. He looked the same as he had a few minutes ago, but suddenly Perceptor felt like he was looking at a completely different mech.

“What –. “ He rebooted his vocalizer to try to get rid of the static. It didn’t work very well. “What was that for?”

Fireflight bit his lip again, and Perceptor suddenly couldn’t look away from that mouth.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” the younger mech said shyly. He stepped closer, lifting his hands to cradle Perceptor’s face. “Can I… do you mind if I try again?”

Perceptor could only stare. Fireflight apparently took that as a yes, because soft lips met Perceptor’s again.

This time, he melted into it.

He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. Fireflight was young, so young, and he was naïve, and innocent, and he was kissing Perceptor like he really, _really_ knew what he was doing, and it was all Perceptor could do to keep standing.

When the Aerialbot finally eased back, Perceptor was panting.

“Where,” he gasped, “did you learn how to kiss like that?”

“Gestalt link,” Fireflight said smugly. “I’ve actually never done it before. But it took Bolt a while to learn how to block properly, and Air Raid was even worse when he first got together with Cliffjumper and Bee.” He giggled. “We all had vicarious overloads for weeks before he learned to control it.” He nuzzled Perceptor’s cheek. “So… Was that okay?”

Perceptor felt unsteady, like the world had tilted a few degrees suddenly. He struggled to make sense of the situation.

Then Fireflight pulled back and smiled at him again, and he realized he didn’t need to make sense of it. It was fine as it was.

“That was perfect,” he replied, leaning into the touch. The beaming smile on Fireflight’s face warmed him to his core.

“Good,” Fireflight purred. “Then help me with these vents, so we can do that some more.”

Perceptor completely agreed. He still felt out of control, but that didn’t matter, because this new Fireflight, this assertive, confident, and – dare he think it – sexy Fireflight, had control of the situation. And Perceptor was fine with that.

He reached around Fireflight’s neck again to reach that screw. And he was only mildly distracted by those lips caressing his face.


	9. Haunted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one completely ran away with me.  
> Also, let's just pretend that Hocus Pocus and Casper has been in existence since the dawn of time and thus would be perfectly logical to watch in the eighties.

Optimus found Sunstreaker just where Sideswipe said he would be. Standing outside the labyrinth, a little bit away from it, glancing at it every few minutes and pretending not to.

“Hello, Sunstreaker,” he said pleasantly. “Considering the maze of horrors?”

Sunstreaker startled at his words, which told Optimus quite a lot about the golden twin’s mental state. It seemed Sideswipe was right.

 _He’s going to be on edge,_ Sideswipe had said. _He doesn’t like this holiday much, there are too many things out to scare and startle and stuff. Not that he’s scared – Sunny doesn’t get scared like that – but it triggers his battle reflexes real bad, and then mecha will shout at him for overreacting._

“Wasn’t really planning on going in there,” Sunstreaker muttered. “Not my gig.”

“I’m inclined to agree.” Optimus made sure to keep his tone light. “Especially not considering its creators. It has been a while since Wheeljack made anything blow up by accident, but judging by the smoke and fog coming out of it, and considering Jazz is a contributor, I’d rather leave it to those with a will to get… what’s that term Spike used?”

Sunstreaker smirked, relaxing a bit. “’Freaked out of their skin’?”

Optimus chuckled. “That’s the one.” He relaxed his stance, turning to watch as Slingshot taunted Brawn into the maze. It didn’t really take long for the screaming to start.

Next to him, Sunstreaker tensed.

_He doesn’t trust himself when he gets like that. He thinks he’ll seriously hurt someone. And then you – or, well, probably not you, probably Prowl or Red Alert or someone – will throw him out of the Autobots or something._

“As fun as it is to stand here and observe the victims-to-be,” Optimus said softly, “there was something else I wanted to do tonight. I have a stack of movies waiting for me in my quarters. Would you like to come watch them with me?”

Sunstreaker hid behind a sneer. “What, are you freaked already?”

“Quite sufficiently freaked, yes,” Optimus replied with a laugh. He touched Sunstreaker’s elbow lightly. “Come with me?”

Sunstreaker looked at him, then shrugged nonchalantly. “Sure, why not. Anything’s better than standing around here.”

_Don’t let his act throw you off. He’ll be happy you came over. Just give him a chance to relax and lower those ridiculously thick walls of his._

Optimus smiled and touched Sunstreaker’s elbow again. “Let’s go back inside.”

He led the way back to the Ark entrance, past Hoist and Huffer who had volunteered for guard duty. Optimus offered them a smile, noting their curious glances at his companion. Sunstreaker, in return, tensed further, straightened, and pretty much stalked past them.

He didn’t get too far ahead. Optimus had longer legs and knew how to use them.

“Before we get to the movies,” Optimus said, “would you show me your pumpkin?”

“From earlier today? Sure.” Sunstreaker shrugged. “It’s in the rec room.”

Optimus frowned. “Not put outside with the others?”

Sunstreaker shook his head. “No. It wasn’t fit for showing off, apparently.”

_He’s used to mecha treating him differently, you see. Like he’s dangerous. Which he is, of course he is, but no more than the rest of us. It’s not like he’s really going to snap and attack someone. He’s got too much steely self-control for that. He only ever lets that go when there’s a battle. But then his battle protocols will activate because of the screaming and the running and the costumes and stuff, and mecha will look at him like he’s going to kill someone any moment or a wrong word can set him off or stuff like that… It’s unfair, Prime. He gets angry, but he’s not evil. He’s no worse than the rest of us. His instincts are just closer to the surface, that’s all._

“Why not?”

Sunstreaker shrugged. “I’ll show you.”

He walked in front of Optimus until they came to the rec room, where Sunstreaker stopped and threw out his arm in a dramatic gesture. “Behold the abomination.”

Optimus stared.

Sunstreaker had chosen a fairly large pumpkin, one that was also smoother and more even-surfaced than some of the others. He’d clearly carved it, just like everyone else had. But the similarity to what the others have done ended there.

In front of Optimus, silhouetted in orange, a mech was dying. He was on his knees, screaming in agony, hands trying in vain to shield vulnerable optics and circuitry, while the fluid falling on him dissolved his plating and protoform. There was such emotion in it, it looked so real with that flickering candlelight behind it, that it gave Optimus the chills.

Slowly, Optimus knelt in front of the masterpiece Sunstreaker had created. “Is this… Which battle is this?”

“Simfur,” Sunstreaker replied simply. He walked up to stand behind Optimus. “The first battle where the Rainmakers used that skill of theirs. On top of the rain that was already falling…” He touched the side of the pumpkin carefully. “Suffice it to say that that one didn’t survive. Most of them didn’t.”

Optimus shivered. “I remember. The death toll was almost absolute. It killed every one of the Neutrals we were trying to protect.”

“All of the Neutrals, a lot of the Autobots and even most of the Decepticons.” Sunstreaker sat down on the floor next to him. “Which is probably why that trine hasn’t been used like that since. Megatron may be insane, but he doesn’t throw his troops away.” He turned, smiled grimly at Optimus. “So you see now why they didn’t want to show it off? It’s too scary. It seriously freaked out First Aid.” He sighed. “Made me feel bad. I didn’t mean to scare the kid.”

“This is magnificent, though,” Optimus murmured. “How did you manage?”

Sunstreaker shrugged. “It’s all carved at different depths. I didn’t really cut all the way through a lot. The light does the rest.”

“It’s very impressive work.” Optimus stood, extending a hand to Sunstreaker. “And I can see why it’s hidden from the public eye. But please don’t mistake that for anyone thinking it’s not good work. It’s just disturbing.” He chuckled lightly. “Perfectly in the spirit of the celebration, really.”

Sunstreaker eyed his hand skeptically before taking it, letting Optimus pull him to his feet. “Fair enough. I’ll take your word for that.”

“Good.” Optimus smiled. “Now come on.”

 _He trusts you, sir. Cares for you. But he’s never going to show that. It took him ages to try to muster up the courage to approach you, but when he tried it kind of failed on him and now he’s convinced he’s not worthy of anything._ Sideswipe’s optics had been sharp. _Don’t toy with him, sir. If you don’t want to spend time with him, then let him down. But I’d like for you to be nice about it. Don’t make it about him. You’re good with words, you can manage that, can’t you?_

“So what kind of movies did you have in mind anyway?”

Optimus smiled. Sunstreaker was relaxing again, if he felt brave enough to ask questions. “I have a stack of human movies I wanted to see. No one wanted to watch them with me.” He chuckled. “Apparently, they’re not scary enough.”

“You want to watch non-scary movies on Halloween?” Sunstreaker smirked at him.

“They are Halloween-movies,” Optimus defended himself. “Just… not the overly scary kind.” He smiled. “So, can I tempt you to watch with me? I have energon goodies?”

Sunstreaker’s smirk melted into a genuine smile. “Sure. Since you have goodies.”

 

Sunstreaker snickered. “So, the cat just reanimates?”

“It can’t die,” Optimus replied, picking up another candy and offering the box to Sunstreaker. “So yes, it reanimates.”

“That’s just weird.” Sunstreaker popped a candy into his mouth.

“It is.” Optimus sank back into the couch. “That’s the fun of it.” He looked at Sunstreaker, making sure to catch the other’s optic. “Hey. Thank you for watching these with me.”

Sunstreaker hesitated for a moment, then leaned back next to him. They were almost plating to plating. “Sure. Thanks for asking.” He smiled a bit. “It beats hovering outside that labyrinth, fighting back my instincts every time someone screeched.”

“That doesn’t sound like it would have been a pleasant evening.”

“No,” Sunstreaker sighed. “No, it wouldn’t have been.” He smiled. “Thanks for rescuing me.”

That smile brought another aspect of loveliness to Sunstreaker’s face. The golden mech was beautiful even on his worst, but this was new. Optimus had a feeling that there weren’t many who got to witness that smile.

“You should smile more often,” he blurted.

Sunstreaker actually blushed. “Well, you should take your mask off more often,” he muttered, ducking his head.

“I’ll make you a deal, then,” Optimus replied. Slowly, cautiously, he reached out to let his hand cover Sunstreaker’s. “I’ll bare my face more often if you smile at me when I do.”

“That’s sappy,” Sunstreaker commented, but he was still smiling. “You’re the only one I know who could get away with that level of sap.”

Optimus laughed. “So am I getting away with it?”

“Yeah, you are,” Sunstreaker replied. “It’s a deal. Now watch the movie.”

The words were dismissive, but the tone wasn’t. Most likely, Sunstreaker was uncomfortable to have all of Optimus’ attention focused on him and needed an out for a little while.

Optimus could understand that. So he leaned back and tried to watch the movie.

‘Try’ was the key word. He didn’t really succeed. His optics kept drifting to the golden mech next to him. Sunstreaker was relaxed, peaceful – there was no trace anywhere of the normal sneer and standoffishness.

Good thing that the movie had a simple plot. Because Optimus wasn’t getting much of it.

He did notice when the movie ended, mainly because Sunstreaker got up and put on another DVD. When the golden mech sat down next to him again, Optimus reached out and took his hand.

It wasn’t a conscious decision. He was as surprised as Sunstreaker looked at the action.

“Sorry,” he said, embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to do that.” He tried to let go, but Sunstreaker’s fingers tightened around his.

“It’s okay.” That shy smile again, and Optimus pretty much melted. “I kind of – I kind of like it.”

There was no way Optimus could focus on the screen after that. He caught enough of it to get that it was about a ghost and some more ghosts and a human girl and her father, and that it was a movie that was both funny and sad.

He knew it was both because he was watching Sunstreaker’s facial expressions.

He’d thought that Sunstreaker was – not cold, not exactly, but indifferent, maybe. He never gave the impression that he cared about anything but himself and his brother. But that just wasn’t true. The mech next to him clearly felt deeply; it was right there for Optimus to see, now that Sunstreaker had let his walls drop a bit.

It was in the narrowing of Sunstreaker’s eyes when the main antagonists were being cruel. In the way he bit his lower lip during the sad parts. He chuckled at the funny bits, true, but the sad bits seemed to hit him harder. Those parts actually upset him.

“There’s something about this film that resonates with you,” Optimus commented softly. His thumb was stroking the back of Sunstreaker’s hand.

“It’s the way Casper’s stuck outside everything,” Sunstreaker replied, more honest and forthcoming than Optimus had expected. “And how that’ll never change, because he is the ghost of a twelve year old kid and he’ll never be anything else.”

Optimus couldn’t help it. He let go of Sunstreaker’s hand and put that arm around his shoulders instead, pulling him close.

Sunstreaker stiffened at first, but then he let himself relax against Optimus’ side.

Sunstreaker… smelled nice. Not that Optimus was actively leaning in and sniffing him. But it was hard not to notice, when they were this close, how smooth the golden plating was, how he smelled of expensive waxes and clean metal, how warm he was against Optimus’ frame.

Optimus didn’t notice when the movie ended and the credits began. He was too focused on Sunstreaker.

“This music is haunting,” Sunstreaker said softly. He straightened a bit, pulling away just enough to access his subspace, and pulled out an oversized human sketchbook and graphite pencil. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” Optimus replied. He watched, fascinated, as Sunstreaker’s pencil began moving.

It was vague, at first. The outline of mecha moving in a bright-lit room. There were no faces, but here and there Optimus could see a hint at a speedster alt-mode or doorwings or sensor horns or visors.

In front of the crowd of Autobots, because of course it was the Autobots, there was a racing frame holding a sensor-horned youngling by the hand. They were walking towards the mecha in the background.

In the very front of the picture, at the edge of the light, another youngling was leaning around the edge of a doorway. One hand was slightly raised, as if to call the other youngling back or wanting to come with him, but the other hand was tightened on the doorjamb.

That youngling had a hint of elegant helm vents.

The meaning was clear. And it was spark-shattering.

After adding another few touches, Sunstreaker put his pencil away and looked at his work critically. Then he sighed. “Want it? I can’t bring this home to Sides, it’s too sad. He’ll feel guilty.”

“I’d be honored to keep it,” Optimus replied truthfully. “It’s exquisite.”

Sunstreaker flashed him a smile. “Thanks.” Gently, extremely carefully, he pulled the thick sheet of paper loose and handed Optimus the drawing.

“Why would Sideswipe feel guilty?” Optimus stood and walked over to put the small piece of art somewhere safe.

“Because he thinks he needs to take care of me,” Sunstreaker sighed. “He’s always done that. I’m  - not too good with other mecha, so he has to intervene so I can make friends. And now that he’s with Mirage, he has less time to spend with me than he did before.” He snorted. “I’m not upset with him for that. They’re disgustingly adorable together, and he totally deserves all that happiness, but for some reason he thinks I’ll mind. And so he’ll feel guilty for me being alone while he’s not.”

“He cares for you.” Optimus sat back down by Sunstreaker’s side. “That’s not a bad thing.”

“My happiness is not his responsibility,” Sunstreaker said bluntly. “It’s not on him whether I have friends or not. Whether I’m alone or not.”

“He just wants to help,” Optimus protested softly. “And in that respect… I have a confession to make. I didn’t come to talk to you tonight of my own accord.”

Sunstreaker turned sharply, stared at him. Then he sighed. “He told you to come find me, didn’t he? Figures.” He stood. “I should go. You don’t need to spend your evening with me out of pity.”

“It’s not pity.” Optimus stood as well, reaching for Sunstreaker’s hand. He couldn’t let Sunstreaker leave now. Not just because it would be wrong to let the mech leave when he was clearly upset, but because Optimus didn’t want him to leave.

He wanted the golden mech to stay with him. At least until he’d figured out what this was between them. Because there was something there, he was sure of it, and it had been too long since he’d felt anything like that.

“It’s not, I promise,” he continued. “Yes, at first, I felt bad that you would be upset and alone like that. Sideswipe told me that he’d be spending the evening with Mirage, and that you would need company. He told me where to find you and how you would be feeling.” He tugged at Sunstreaker’s hand, hoping the other mech would turn around and look at him. “I came to talk to you because I would have done as much for any Autobot. But somehow you’re not just any Autobot to me anymore.”

With clear reluctance, Sunstreaker let himself be pulled back down on the couch. He was pointedly not looking at Optimus. “Did Sideswipe tell you… about how I feel?”

Dangerous territory, this. Sunstreaker was still really tense – he was what Jazz would have designated a ‘flight risk’. Optimus would have to be careful with his words.

“He told me you care about me,” he said softly. “That you have for a while.”

“That slagger,” Sunstreaker said, but there was no real feeling in it. “You don’t owe me anything, no matter how I feel. You don’t have to cater to me.”

“I’m not here with you because I have to be,” Optimus replied. “I may have come to find you because of Sideswipe, but that’s not why we’re here. That’s not why I’ve been holding your hand all night.” He smiled slightly. “And definitely not why I’ve been too taken with looking at you to know what either movie was about. I couldn’t tell you about the plot if you paid me to.”

Sunstreaker turned to stare at him again, this time incredulously. “Are you… flirting with me now?”

Optimus chuckled, partially in real relief and partially in an attempt to lighten the mood. “I’m doing my best to flirt with you, yes. I’m… not very good at it. Ironhide always says that it’ll take a bonding request from me before someone will understand I’m interested in them.” He squeezed Sunstreaker’s hand. “I’m terribly out of practice, too,” he admitted. “Orion Pax never had much cause to flirt, and with the Matrix and the Primacy and the war I haven’t had much chance or reason to either.”

“You’re not half bad.” Sunstreaker grinned. “Could do with some practice.”

“Really?” Optimus smiled back. “Care to be my test subject? Maybe while we stay here and watch another movie?”

“Depends.” Sunstreaker finally relaxed, and Optimus put his arm back around those shoulders. “Are you going to actually watch the movie this time?”

“I make no promises,” Optimus crooned. He leaned in slowly, bravely, and nuzzled the top of Sunstreaker’s helm. “But I can try.”

“Good enough,” Sunstreaker decided. “Put the film on already.”

Optimus smiled. “Of course.” He got up to switch movies, probably breaking some form of speed record in the process, before sitting back down. Then he pulled Sunstreaker closer, and the golden mech let himself be pulled.

This could be something good. Maybe he owed thanks to Sideswipe.

But that was for another day. For now, he was watching movies with an incredibly handsome and fascinating mech in his arms. And he aimed to enjoy every minute of it.


	10. Tradition, pt.II

It would be nice if the rec room was deserted when Prowl walked in. But, of course, it wasn’t. It never was on the day after a party, but he couldn’t stop himself from getting his hopes up. He could almost hear Jazz laughing at him, saying that it was Optimus who was supposed to have the positive outlook. Prowl was supposed to be the rule-riding tight-aft.

It was a carefully constructed image. Mostly, he kept to it. But sometimes, he felt the need to prove to himself that he cared just as much as his leader did.

If he was any kind of nice to himself, he would have chosen a more pleasant way to do so. Cleaning up spilled energon and equally spilled mechs was not the most enviable task, but it needed doing.

He could, however, share the misery around a little.

::Lover, I hope you appreciate my sacrificing my morning just so you can lie in.::

::Don’t complain,:: Ratchet replied. There was a lazy happiness to his tone. As well there should be – Prowl could barely walk normally. He’d had to practice walking in his quarters before he had dared leaving them. ::You like taking care of them almost as much as I do.::

He suppressed a smile. ::Some pair we are. Both of us care too much for our own good, and neither of us show it.::

Ratchet purred. ::Knew there was something I liked about you.::

::Aside from my amazing skill in berth, you mean?::

::Yes, aside from that, you glitch.:: Ratchet laughed. ::And considering that… Don’t be late coming back, okay?::

::I’ll be back as soon as I’m done,:: Prowl promised.

He put on a frown as he surveyed the rec room scene, doorwings stiff on his back in the very image of Disapproving Superior Officer. There were several issues requiring his attention.

Mirage wasn’t a problem. The spy was standing by the dispenser, most likely fetching the morning’s rations for himself and his lover. Hoist, waiting in line behind him, was also all right.

The main problem was Ironhide, recharging in a very awkward position underneath one of the tables. The way his arms and legs were arranged left no doubt as to what he had been doing under there. The leg sticking out from behind him, Tracks’ grey and royal blue, revealed who he had been doing it with. For that matter, so did Smokescreen’s doorwings and yellow chevron between Ironhide’s legs. All three of them were lost to the world.

They were too heavy and too intertwined for him to move them easily. Prowl was half tempted to leave them like that, but… Ironhide’s open interfacing panel was not the first thing bots wanted to see when they came to get their energon. He’d have to cover them up somehow.

“Hoist.”

The crane-former turned to look at him. “Sir?”

“Help me move this table to its side in front of them, will you?”

Hoist looked where Prowl was looking and chuckled. “A bit too much there, huh? Sure thing, Prowl.”

When the sinful trio was properly concealed, Prowl turned his attention to Wheeljack. The engineer was slumped over a table, clearly unconscious. He was at least decent.

“Don’t worry about Wheeljack, sir,” a cheerful voice said from behind him. “I’ll get him back to quarters.”

“Thank you, Trailbreaker. Make sure he refuels as well.”

“On it.” The defense specialist smiled as he moved in, picking up the smaller white mech easily. “Come on, Jackie, you can’t recharge here.”

Wheeljack mumbled semi-coherently, and Trailbreaker laughed. “Yeah, right back atcha, ‘Jack.”

Prowl stepped aside to let the black mech cart his mostly unresponsive cargo out of the room. That was the two worst problems dealt with.

Now, all that was left was checking up on the mechs who weren’t in the rec room. With a sigh, he requested the list from Teletraan-1 of bots who hadn’t withdrawn their ration yet or had others do it for them.

The list was longer than he liked. Luckily, it didn’t look like he’d have to handle it alone. A handy pair of reliable reinforcements were just finishing their rations at a nearby table.

“Good morning, Fireflight, Perceptor.”

“Hello, sir,” Fireflight chirped brightly. “Did you have a nice Halloween?”

“Very nice, thank you.” _Understatement of the vorn._ “And you?”

“We had a very nice evening,” Perceptor said softly. Prowl didn’t miss how the scientist’s fingers squeezed the younger flier’s, or the fact that they were both blushing slightly. An interesting, somewhat unanticipated, but not unwelcome development.

Prowl offered them both a smile and relaxed his doorwings slightly. “I’m glad to see the two of you have found each other. And I’m sorry for interrupting.”

“It’s okay, sir,” the Aerial replied. “We were mostly done. I guess this is about my brothers, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Prowl put on his Stern Countenance. “They have not yet refueled.”

Fireflight nodded solemnly. “I’ll take care of them, sir.”

“Silverbolt and Skyfire first?” Perceptor asked, standing up. “That’ll give you a chance to talk to Skyfire as well.”

The blush across Fireflight’s face deepened slightly, and he looked down. “Yeah. I still need to apologize.” He stood as well, somehow moving closer to Perceptor at the same time. “Let’s get them some energon. ‘Dive and Raider are together, but I’m not sure where Slingshot is. We may have to hunt for him.”

“We’ll find him,” Perceptor promised, placing an arm around Fireflight’s waist. “Come on, sweetspark.”

Prowl couldn’t imagine what Fireflight had to apologize to Skyfire about, but he didn’t let it trouble him very much. Perceptor seemed to have the younger mech well in hand. In a moment of hidden glee, Prowl took an image capture of the scientist’s hand on the back of Fireflight’s neck, the way the fingers were caressing him, and sent it off to his lover.

Ratchet’s response was immediate. ::I did _not_ see that coming.::

::Nor I,:: Prowl confesses. ::They’re very sweet together.::

::How’re you doing? Will you be back soon?:: There was a hint of subtle teasing in Ratchet’s voice. ::I have something for you.::

::I bet you do. Impatient mech,:: Prowl chided gently, trying to ignore the effect Ratchet’s words had on his frame. ::I need to check on Prime, Jazz, and Red Alert. The rest of them should be fine.::

::Then hurry,:: Ratchet purred. ::I want you in me.::

Well, _that_ wasn’t subtle at all. Prowl shivered. ::I’ll be there soon, lover.::

::Good.::

Prowl was filling up energon cubes before Ratchet had even cut the connection. Subspace full, he turned to find his errant fellow commanders.

 

Jazz was the one to answer Red Alert’s door, much as Prowl had expected.

“Hey, Prowler. Doin’ the rounds, huh?” He took the two proffered cubes. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. I hear the maze was a success?”

The saboteur grinned. “Windcharger actually screamed loud ‘nough that his vocalizer shorted. But don’t worry, no one got hurt.” He winked. “Much. It was mostly their pride that took a beatin’, anyway. And I know what you’re goin’ t’ say.”

Prowl gave an inquisitive flick of doorwings. “And?”

“It helped,” the shorter mech admitted. “I got my demons tamed for a while. Thanks for lettin’ me at it.”

“Good.” Prowl let his doorwings twitch, knowing that Jazz would understand exactly what it meant. “How is Red Alert doing?”

A genuine smile crossed the saboteur’s faceplates. “He’s fine. Yesterday was kinder t’ him than we feared, so he’s good today. He’s still in recharge.” Jazz took a step back, preparing to let the door close. “Thanks for th’ energon, m’ mech.”

“Of course. I’ll see you both later.”

“Yep.” Jazz grinned. “Now go on, finish your rounds. One stop left, am I right?”

“One stop left,” Prowl confirmed. He winked – it was okay to show that much emotion when it was only Jazz there to see. “And then I’m going back to Ratchet.”

“If the rest o’ the Ark knew you two were fraggin’ like petrobunnies, it would break their fragile little minds,” Jazz chortled. “See ya, Prowler.”

The door slid shut behind him.

Prowl turned away and walked to the other end of the hall to knock on the door there. It took long enough for anything to happen that he pinged Teletraan-1 again to get a verification that Optimus was inside and that he was awake. He was just about to knock again when the door opened and Optimus’ unmasked face smiled down at him.

Wordlessly, Prowl offered him an energon cube.

“Thank you, my friend. I’m glad to see you’re maintaining the tradition.” The Prime turned aside to put the cube down.

Behind him, Prowl caught a glimpse of golden plating. His optics widened, and his doorwings slipped from his ironclad control and climbed as high as they could go. “Optimus, why is _Sunstreaker_ in your quarters?”

Optimus’ smile turned bashful. “We spent all night watching movies. When he fell into recharge here, I didn’t want to move him.”

There were several layers to those words. “You didn’t want to move him because you didn’t want to wake him, or you didn’t want to move him because you wanted to keep him here?”

“Both,” Optimus admitted with another sheepish smile. He glanced back towards the recharging frontliner on the couch. “I just – it feels like I may have something here, my friend. I’d like some time to figure it out before we have to face the Ark again.”

Prowl looked from his leader to the frontliner, and nodded. “You won’t be disturbed.” He pulled out another energon cube, handing it over to Optimus. “And I’m happy for you, sir. I know Sunstreaker better than almost everyone but his brother and Ratchet. He’s a good mech at spark.”

“That he is,” Optimus said softly. He offered Prowl another smile. “Thanks for taking care of us.”

“You’re welcome. Now go sit with your guest, and I’ll go join my lover again.”

Optimus chuckled. “You do that. He must be getting impatient.”

“He is.” Prowl could almost hear Ratchet’s impatient growl in his mind. “See you later, sir.”

Optimus nodded. Prowl had the time to see him sit down at Sunstreaker’s head and stroke his cheek before the door slid shut.

Time to get back to Ratchet. He could feel his frame heating up at the thought.

::All done, lover. I’m coming back to you now.::

The reply came at once. ::Good. I’m waiting.::

Prowl permitted himself a smile as he headed towards his own quarters.


End file.
